


The Yule Ball

by oliverdalstonbrowning



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dancing, F/M, M/M, Marauders, Yule Ball, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 02:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2331890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliverdalstonbrowning/pseuds/oliverdalstonbrowning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius attends Hogwarts' Yule Ball and finds an excuse to dance again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Yule Ball

Sirius Black cringes at the thought of dancing in front of other people. Don’t get him wrong, he adores dancing and swaying and moving to the rhythm of a song, like there is air beneath his feet and lyrics in his heart. But the idea of dancing among others awakens nightmarish memories of stiff-backed Purebloods and critical aristocratic eyes. He has been to a dozen balls and a hundred family dinners and he can dance the tango, the waltz and the foxtrot like he can fly a broom or bake a cake (though many people were under the impression that he can’t even boil water for tea). However, his extensive knowledge of the basic _one, two, three, one, two, three_ does not, under any circumstances, mean that Sirius receives the slightest amount of joy from doing it before the company of others, much less the company of strangers, and even less the company of fellow students who are disparaging and smarmy. Not even his friends know he can dance.

   It is much to Sirius’ mixed emotions of delight and displeasure that Professor Dumbledore announces to the school a Yule Ball for the Christmas festivities. Sirius thinks he can escape it by retreating to James’ for the holidays, but the cunning old git has scheduled it for the night before students are dismissed to their families for two weeks. Sirius feels trapped, balancing precariously atop a double-edged sword. If he dances, he will be laughed at for his enthusiasm; if he does not, he will be laughed at for his lack of enthusiasm. He wonders how easily it would be to escape notice entirely. Not very, he thinks. Regardless, he plans to enjoy himself. He is Sirius Black, after all.

   It is the week preceding the ball and the entire school is practically humming with excitement. Girls can be seen in the common rooms and the Great Hall and in the corridors between classes practicing their steps and giggling with anticipation, commending each other for turns and spins well done. Sirius finds it infectious; their cheerfulness and vibrating zeal is intoxicating, yet he knows he cannot join them. It is only the girls who are permitted to express their enthusiasm. The boys are slouched, nervous and resigned, and Sirius is apparently a boy, so he feels he too must slouch and talk only of who will look more fetching in their frock; Marlene McKinnon or Emmeline Vance? Sirius does not appreciate the patriarchy, but gives his input all the same, knowing the girls will be drawing their own bets about the boys. He has asked Marlene to the ball, and feels obliged to vouch for her.

   “I still think Lily will trump them all,” pipes up James at dinner. He gloats still about his good fortune at having a girlfriend and being free of the pressure of actually asking someone to the ball. Sirius is envious, for James never has to work for what he has; good fortune comes glistening with hope and ease, and Sirius thinks childishly of how unfair it all is.

   He looks over at Lily, who is beaming at her boyfriend in spite of him stuffing his face with mashed potatoes. Sirius wonders if someone will ever look at him like that; when he is ugly and careless and silly and they simper at him anyway. Marlene does not do it; she hits him with her Beater’s bat and calls him a pig, but he knows she does not mean it and that it is a part of that violent affection girls are so fond of. Sirius can honestly say he does not mind it – the beating he takes during a full moon is nothing compared to a stick of wood – yet still he longs for someone to hand him a napkin and kiss him sweetly when he has gravy dribbling down his chin just like James has now.

   “Have you got your dress yet, Lily?” Remus asks from across the table. He is eating stir fry and there are no remnants of it on his face, nor are there condiments on his nose, but Sirius wants to give him a napkin all the same.

   “Not yet; mum is sending it to me tomorrow, though,” Lily replies, grinning and clapping her hands like it is Christmas. _Which it is,_ Sirius must remind himself. He never was overly fond of Christmas.

   Remus goes on to ask her what it looks like, and James is listening with heightened attentiveness and a bit of steak hanging from his open mouth. Sirius tunes out, uninterested. He is watching Remus instead; far more engrossed by the way the boys’ eyebrows lift when he is talking and how his lips pout sweetly for half a second before he smiles. He had been the one to muster enough courage to ask Emmeline Vance to the Yule Ball. He is very highly respected for it, as the other boys had been too afraid of her rejection. Sirius thinks she is very pretty, and she’s awfully nice, and they will certainly make a charming couple, but he would rather have his own arm on Remus’ when they walk into the Great Hall on the night of the ball.

   Emmeline is sitting to Remus’ immediate left, batting her eyelashes whenever he looks at her. He smiles warmly at her between mouthfuls of his dinner, but it is not always genuine. Sirius feels somewhat sickened by the sight of such infatuation, but cannot blame her for it. Remus is handsome and he is tall and stately and, more than his physical qualities, he is unwaveringly kind and sweet and she could not want for a better partner. Sirius wonders if she knows just how lucky she truly is, for he would do anything to be in her place.

   When dinner is over, everyone retires to their respective common rooms and dormitories. With only a week left, there is precious little time in order to perfect any implications that might arise on the big night. Professor Dumbledore may not see it, but he has created a silent chaos of jitters and tears in his school.

   James is moping in the boys’ dormitory, pacing the room much like a confused deer lost in the woods. Sirius and Peter are watching him from the floor as though he is a gripping tennis rally, heads swivelling from side-to-side as he mutters and wrings his hands and wipes his glasses on his robes until they are more smudged than they are clean. He trips on his own feet and lets out a pitiful wail.

   “I’m going to fuck it up!” he moans. “I can’t even walk straight, let alone dance! Lily will think I’m an absolute berk.”

   “You _are_ an absolute berk,” Remus points out absently from his bed where he does not look up from the book he is reading.

   James howls and throws himself at Sirius, who has been staring at Remus again and is caught by surprise. They grapple with each other for a moment, all arms and legs and elbows in eyes, scuffling and nearly kicking Peter in the face. Soon, James is sitting on Sirius’ chest in a position of victory despite his woeful situation. His eyes search Sirius' in a desperate plea for help.

   “Padfoot, you have to help me,” he insists. Sirius heaves and coughs painfully with the weight of another boy on his chest, his face red from the exertion it requires not to faint. “You can dance, right? Your parents taught you how to dance?”

   “No,” Sirius lies awkwardly, finally pushing James off him and letting the harassed boy tumble to the floor beside him.

   “Don’t lie! You’re always complaining about how many formal parties you had to attend!”

   James is beyond desperate now, for he needs Sirius in a way that drives away all boundaries of civil friendship, and Sirius is reluctant. If he wanted to teach anyone to dance, he would want to teach Remus. That being said, he suspects Remus is secretly a wonderful dancer.

   “Alright, I’ll help you,” Sirius agrees after some deliberation.

   James scrambles to his feet so quickly that it couldn’t possibly be out of keenness, but an extreme form of jumpy anxiety. Remus, who has at last abandoned his book, gets up and retrieves the gramophone from the cupboard by the door, an amused expression on his face. Sirius does his best not to blush at the humiliation he is about to endure before his friends, but fails. He is only comforted by the fact that it is James who asked, and not Sirius who offered. For once, James must work for something.

   “Okay,” Sirius begins as Remus chooses a vinyl from their small collection. He is humming to himself and it is distracting Sirius, who loves more than words can express to hear Remus sing. “Dancing isn’t really something that can be taught. That’s what my mum told me when she was, for lack of a better word, _teaching_ me.”

   James is puzzled, thick eyebrows quirked and poised to ask a hundred questions, but he says nothing, and Sirius continues. “You can learn the steps and the movements, and you can learn where to keep your hands and arms, and how to not trip over your shoelaces because they are almost definitely going to come undone, and this will effectively lead you to looking like a waltzing dolphin. The thing about dancing is that you have to _feel_ the music; you can’t just shuffle about the floor and expect it to make sense.”

   James is chuckling now, his face a lovely shade of tomato at the thought of Sirius _feeling_ the music. “Is this supposed to impress me?” he jests as Remus finds an appropriate record and sets it on the dial. A waltz begins to play.

   “No; it’s supposed to impress Lily,” Sirius retorts scathingly. He rips a hair-tie from his wrist and pulls his long hair back into a ponytail away from his face. He lifts his arms and instructs James to do the same. “Now, I’m the boy, for now; I have to teach you how to lead before you can actually do it.”

   “Why do I have to lead?” James whines.

   “Because you’re the gentleman and she’s the lady,” Sirius snaps. “Quit your moaning and hold my hand – yeah, like that – and your right hand goes on my shoulder.”

   James obeys, flustered for a moment, but then relaxing into a calm demeanour. Sirius loops his left hand under James’ arm and positions it carefully above the boys’ waist. It is strange to think that there really isn’t a waist to help mark his hands’ coordination. He has never danced with a boy before. It is not as bewildering as he expected.

   “There are six basic steps for the waltz,” Sirius says, holding their bearings. “Three for your left foot, three for your right.”

   “That’s where the _‘one, two, three, one, two, three’_ comes from,” James says fervently, his understanding slowly pushing through the surface.

   Sirius nods. “You start with your left foot; this should be easy for you because you’re left handed. Now, whatever I do, you just need to follow. Don’t try and lead; we’ll get to that later.”

   James straightens his back, a determined expression on his face. Sirius feels like a damn fool, and he can hear Peter laughing from the floor. He does his best to ignore his friends’ teasing, but he cannot see Remus, and it makes him anxious. He is afraid to imagine that he is dancing with Remus and not James, and this could result in all sorts of awkward ramifications.

   Sirius steps forward and James stumbles, cursing and blushing and looking down at the positioning of his feet. “Don’t look down,” Sirius commands. “If you pay attention to your feet, you’ll look like a prat.”

   “How am I supposed to keep from tripping over if I can’t watch my feet?” James says bitterly, levelling his back again.

   “Feel the music, remember? Forget about the steps; you’re following for now. Just listen to the music,”

   “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

   Sirius smiles lightly, chuckling. “Let’s just say I haven’t had the opportunity to dance in a really long time."

   The two boys reposition themselves and begin again. Sirius steps forward and James follows, slowly at first, and then uniformly to the music as they come to know each other. It is easy for Sirius, for he knows the steps, and it does not bother him to dance with a boy, even if it is a bit odd. James, however, is feeling self-conscious, and doing his best not to peer down at his feet partially out of fear of stumbling again and partially out of the humiliation of having to look Sirius in the eye as he learns something admittedly rather primitive, in his opinion.

   The vinyl ends, and Remus replaces it with another. Sirius pauses before they go again.

   “Right, now you know the steps, it’s your turn to lead. So, I’m the girl; put your hand above my waist, near my shoulder-blade,”

   “But you haven’t got a waist,” James protests weakly.

   “And you haven’t got much between your ears if you think anyone else is going to help you with this. Hand. Above waist. Near the shoulder-blade.”

   James submits grudgingly, grimacing at the idea of picturing his best mate – his _brother_ – as a girl to dance with. It probably doesn’t help that his hair as almost at his elbows now. Sirius adjusts his stance uncomfortably, unaccustomed to not taking the lead. His left hand squirms on James’ shoulder irritably while James’ right tries to find an appropriate position on Sirius’ lower back. It is only lucky that they are the same height – if a few centimetres in difference – and so their bodies are easier to navigate. James moves towards Sirius and this time the other boy follows, struggling not to dominate, as is his preferred stance as a dance partner.

   They shuffle weirdly around the room as the music hums through the walls, James too cautious in his footing and Sirius stroppy in his passive station. As Remus changes the record for a third time, they become at ease and are soon waltzing, circling about the room, avoiding socks and shoes and ties and books in the wake of their steps. Sirius starts to laugh, deep and barking, and all four boys are all chuckling as they come to a stop.

   “Got it?” Sirius wheezes, grinning hugely.

   “I think so. I hate to admit it, but we’ll probably have to practice a bit more,” James says, smirking and fixing his glasses which have fallen to the tip of his nose.

   Sirius grunts in agreement and claps his friend on the back fondly, almost sorry that it is over. Tugging out his long hair, Sirius remembers now how much he enjoys dancing. It is one of the things he perceives as a chore, until he is actually doing it, and then he feels he could not fit enough time for it even if he had another lifespan to spare.

   The music is still playing and James leaves in a hurry to tell Lily of his new talent, dress shoes clutched in his hands to potentially do more show than tell. Peter goes to take a shower and this means Sirius and Remus are alone in their dormitory and the former is agitated and lost. He requires a distraction, but the only distraction that he feels is worthy of his attention is right in front of him, grinning and tall and beautiful.

   “I didn’t know you could dance,” Remus says.

   Sirius shrugs casually, his charisma like a guarded wall than actual personality. “Purebloods,” he clarifies distastefully. “We’re a disgustingly old-fashioned bunch. If you think running away from home was the most difficult thing I ever had to do, you should have seen me dance with Bellatrix. That was a hardship all on its own.”

   Remus snickers, mouth pouting and then breaking into a gorgeous smile. He covers it with a hand, fingers nimble, eyes squinting at the mental image of Sirius and Bellatrix Black waltzing among their family, draped in blacks and greens and silvers. At the sight of Remus’ smile, Sirius’ stomach does things it has no right to do. He loves it. More than that, he adores knowing that he is responsible for Remus’ smile; responsible for even a fraction of his happiness.

   Sirius does not even think; he does not take a second to contemplate the repercussions. He grabs Remus’ hand, moving it away from his mouth to reveal a smile that lingers, only to fade and be replaced with wide-eyed shock. It is too late now, he thinks. He cannot recover from this.

   “I miss dancing,” Sirius murmurs, not looking Remus in the eye. The other boy’s hand is trembling in his, fingers twitching, torn between staying and pulling away. Eventually though, Remus does pull away, and Sirius watches his feet walk toward the door.

   His hand is warm where Remus’ had been. It tingles and he closes it in on itself, heart hammering like a miserable marching drum. He is a fool to think that Remus can ever return his favour; ever return a love that is more than just brotherly affection. Sirius feels he could cry; cry like he is six and his father has hit him again. Cry like he is twelve and his mother mistakes him for Regulus. The back of his throat is thick with tears, bursting, aching to be released.

   Sirius hears the small _zip_ of the gramophone and he looks up at last, balling his hand into a fist to fight the tears. Remus is not looking at him, but flicking through the collection of records. Without a word, he slips one out of the box and pulls the vinyl from its cardboard sleeve, setting it on the dial precisely. It whirrs for a second, then plays. Remus kicks off his slippers and Sirius takes a deep breath, swallowing his fear and tears and letting his heart thrum at the thought of actually dancing with Remus. It is not as he imagined it, for they are awkward and out of sync and there is a strange glint in Remus’ eyes that Sirius did not think would be there.

   Remus walks over, slowly, painfully slowly. They are so close now, and Remus reaches out to take Sirius’ hand. But they are too late, or mercifully too soon. The dormitory door bursts open and James emerges, pink-faced and livid. Sirius and Remus jump apart, their faces equally red. James thankfully does not notice, and launches into a rant about Lily’s friends and their 'lack of respect.'

   “I just wanted to dance with Lily, and they just start shrieking and yelling and they pushed me down the stairs! You’d think I was trying to perv on them or something!”

   Remus goes to the gramophone and takes off the vinyl, putting it back in its sleeve sadly while Sirius reluctantly assumes his brotherly position of comforting James, nodding in agreement and grabbing some ointment for the bruise beginning to fester on his forehead from when he had inevitably landed at the foot of the stairs. Sirius tries in vain to ignore the ache in his chest.

*

The Great Hall has been transformed from its warm, gloomy bricks and mortar to a sparkling cavern of frosted walls. Mistletoe and ivy criss-cross the ceiling, which reflects the starry night sky outside. Vanished are the four long house tables, replaced with small, elegantly furnished ones, large enough to seat a dozen people each and sporting small lanterns which glow orange against the white.

   The usual twelve Christmas trees are backed up against the far wall of the Great Hall. There are four trees to represent each house while the rest are decked out in gold and silver, lined up like a garland of Christmas cheer and colour.

   Sirius enters through the double doors with his friends, dressed smartly in black dress robes and a deep red tie, matching a paisley waistcoat. He feels odd, dressed as a Pureblood, but not required to uphold himself as one. Everyone around him is dressed in somewhat less extravagant greys and browns and he feels foolish again, overdoing it as always.

   Marlene is on his arm, beaming around at everyone in the room, attentive to the envy of some of the older girls. She is well aware that she had snagged the best partner for the ball, and while there had been no competition, the other girls give her scathing glares.

   Her partner is not the only reason for their spite, either, for her dark red dress is enough to send any girl into a seething rage of jealously. Sirius had pointed out that matching her dress with his tie was horribly cliché, but Marlene had insisted. She believes it outshines Emmeline’e lacy green frock, but it doesn’t.

   Lily pulls James ahead of everyone, pointing to a free table towards the far right corner of the Great Hall. His hand in hers, she drags him to it before anyone has a chance to take it. Sirius and Marlene trail gracefully behind the couple, followed by Remus and Emmeline, Peter and Mary, and Alic  and Frank.

   They seat themselves at the table, chatting loudly and laughing. Sirius has no one to talk to, so he contents himself with watching Remus out the corner of his eye. His dress robes are brown tweed with a blue shirt and a golden tie. He looks warm and at ease, all browns and honey-gold’s. Sirius often wishes he could pull off earthy tones like Remus can and be a pleasant onlooker rather than appearing uptight and regal as he does now. Remus looks ready to dance and drink the night away with a grin on his face, whereas Sirius thinks he fits all too accurately the foul description of a Pureblood. He and James both, his friend sporting dark blue, light blue, and beige. At least James has Lily, who has seen fit to wear a dazzling silver-white dress that glitters and charms as she walks and moves. Sirius thinks they make a sweet couple.

   Soon, the entire school (except those below third year) are seated and students and teachers alike are browsing through the menus. James is showing Lily how they work while others are ordering, whole meals materializing on their golden plates within the blink of an eye. Sirius pushes his food around his plate moodily, his appetite lost to him. To his right, Marlene is tucking eagerly into her soup and ignoring her partner. He wishes there is someone to talk to; anything to take his mind off Remus.

   They have not spoken properly since their almost-dance. The past week has consisted of lingering eye-contact; a silent longing for each other’s company and no opportunity to grasp it. They held hands under the table in Charms the other day, but James and Peter’s constant presence has its drawbacks. They are never alone, and Sirius liked the feeling of Remus’ fingers intertwined in his. It felt like home.

   After dinner, everyone is nervous to approach the white dance floor. Lily is first, and she heaves a very disinclined James to his feet. Encouraged by the enthusiasm of the Head Boy and Girl, other students slowly arrive on the stage, joined by the teachers as well. Sirius offers his hand to Marlene and she accepts it graciously. She is different in a dress and heels, he notices. She is ladylike and pristine, all smiles and straight posture. He leads her onto the dance floor and he can see by the amazement on her face that she was not expecting him to be such an outstanding dancer.

   They dance for several songs. Sirius keeps an eye on his friends, making sure James does not trip and Peter’s laces are tied. James’ eyes are fixed firmly on Lily and he does not break in his strides and Sirius swells with pride. He does not catch a glimpse of Remus, however, and is downhearted all throughout the last two songs. Marlene does not take heed of this, but she mercifully declines the next dance as her feet hurt. Sirius leaves her at the table to get drinks.

   At the punch table he takes two glasses and begins to fill them. He feels someone approaching behind him and turns his head to see Remus leaning passed him to also get two glasses. He smells of soft cologne and Sirius’ grip on the ladle tightens, inhaling it like he needs it to breathe.

   “Hey,” Remus says, oozing a nonchalance that Sirius is not familiar with.

   “Hey,” he returns shakily. He pours the last of Marlene’s drink into the glass and hands the ladle to his friend, their fingers brushing. Remus’ hands are warm.

   “You really tidy up in a suit,” he whispers into Sirius’ ear. “You look really handsome.” Sirius burns a startling crimson and nearly drops one of the glasses.

   “Thanks,” he utters, heart hammering, crying to escape. He has never met anyone who can bring down his defences so easily. Remus makes him stammer and blush and lose his nerve and Sirius doesn’t want to admit that he likes it.

   He darts a glance and sees that Remus is smiling mischievously and Sirius grins to himself, making to leave. Upon reflection, he pauses and goes back, courage restored. “I’m still waiting on that dance, you know,” he says.

   “Aren’t you going to get me a drink first?” Remus’ repartee is sly.

   “I just might.”

   They walk leisurely back to their table where Emmeline has joined Marlene, talking and giggling animatedly. Sirius wishes it was just him and Remus at the table, but he knows there will be other occasions. And he does not wish to upset Marlene; she’s rather lovely, after all, especially without a Beater’s bat to aid her in her sarcasm.

   They bring the drinks to their dates and sit down to join in the conversation. The two girls are talking about an article in _Witch Weekly_ about the newly appointed winner of the Most Charming Smile Award and Sirius and Remus are not expected to provide any input. Though, Sirius has read the mentioned article, and thinks Remus has a better smile. He does not say this, of course.

   The two boys drift onto their own conversation. It is simple and safe, for they do not dare speak of dancing and holding hands. Under the table, their feet exchange a different banter. Sirius creeps his foot up Remus’ leg and enjoys the smile on the other boys’ lips when he notices and pauses mid-sentence. He kicks away Sirius’ foot with his own, and they initiate a playful war, grinning and chuckling whenever they slip and kick a chair or the table.

   “So, when are you getting me that drink?” Remus asks, ceasing their scuffle and boldly voicing their shared thoughts.

   Sirius ponders this for a moment, and then slides his unfinished punch across the table towards Remus, smirking. Remus runs a long delicate finger around the rim of the glass, smiling down at the pink depths of the drink. He fishes out the lonely strawberry and eats it, his eyes not leaving Sirius’. All around them students are milling about the tables, bumping chairs on their way to the dance floor, heels and shoes a flurry of clicks against the stone and the music a blaring thrum from the stage. Sirius notices none of these things.

   He opens his mouth to ask Remus if he wants to leave, but over the boys’ shoulder, Sirius spots Lily and James careering towards the table, Peter and Mary hot at their heels, faces flushed and simpering. He closes his mouth and leans back in his chair sumptuously, assuming a rather aloof expression. Remus understands this signal and goes to Emmeline, offering her another drink. The two boys to not talk again for the rest of the night.

* * *

 

The moon is high now and the stars are laughing. Sirius wanders across the dance floor absently, wondering what has become of Remus. He disappeared twenty minutes ago and Sirius doesn’t want to admit that he feels stood up.

   There are still a few stray couples on the dance floor, swaying to music that is not there. Sirius wonders if they are listening to it in their heads. Is there a synchronisation of hymns between them? He doesn’t know, but wants to.

   He stuffs his hands into his pockets, departing the Great Hall with a sullen expression. The others left well before midnight, having danced and laughed without taking a breath and were now exhausted. Sirius did scarcely less; he even kissed Marlene on the cheek when she retired, though he hopes she knows he meant nothing by it. He is staying behind only to meet up with Remus again, but now his lethargy is brutal and unforgiving. Withdrawn, he kicks a chair on his way out.

   “Leaving so soon?”

   Sirius looks up from the ground of the Entrance Hall to see Remus at the bottom of the stairs, two glasses and a bottle of champagne in his hands. He smiles broadly, beckoning Sirius over. He throws the Invisibility Cloak over them and they sneak through the front doors of the castle, dodging Professor McGonagall’s watchful gaze for troublesome students.

   They creep around the side of the castle towards the Black Lake, out of sight near the edge of the cliff where the castle is situated. It hasn’t yet snowed, but the lake is beginning to ice over and the wind bites at their cheeks and noses like a frosty hound. They lay the Cloak down on the grass beneath a woeful-looking tree and pour the champagne.

   “Couldn’t count on me to get you that drink?” Sirius teases, accepting the glass from Remus.

   Remus pouts slightly before breaking into a small smile, sipping the champagne. “I couldn’t be bothered waiting around for you to finally grow a pair,” he says cheekily.

   Sirius kicks him in the shins impishly. “That’s not fair,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so forward.”

   Remus only shrugs and hands Sirius his own glass. He shifts across the Cloak and leans against the tree with Sirius, taking the drink back. They rest there, fingers touching, drinking the champagne and creasing their dress robes. Their words are exchanged in soft tones, carried in the wind and across the Lake where no one can find them. Sirius just sits and listens to the sound of Remus’ voice, gentle and deep, husky from liquor and sleepiness.

   After a while, they run out of things to talk about, and they run out of champagne to drink. Sirius heaves himself to his feet and pulls Remus up with him, their mouths wide grins and their cheeks pink. They dance, steady and gentle. Sirius wants to stay here, in this safe place, in a limbo between worlds and songs and right and wrong. He wants to remain this way, hands together, noses together, moving to music only they can hear. Music Remus is humming to. Sirius was right; Remus _is_ an exceptional dancer. He suddenly realizes that Remus is leading, and for the first time in his life, Sirius doesn’t mind.


End file.
